Olebiker
November 29th 04, 02:16 AM
My no-good brother-in-law left this morning to go back to Indiana.
He's my wife's brother and I love him, but all the guy wanted to do was
sit on the couch, watch television, and drink beer. The only time he
would get off the couch was to go outside to smoke since we wouldn't
let him smoke in the house. He's 50 years old and must weigh 300
pounds.
I tried my best to entertain him while he was here but, after he left I
was excited to get back on the bike and go for a ride. My friend
Matthew and I rode to the St. Mark's Lighthouse on Apalachee Bay. On
the way back we stopped at a biker bar/oyster house, the only place to
get a bite to eat in Newport, Florida. We weren't too sure about going
into a biker bar dressed in Lycra, but there were no motorcycles
outside so we figured it was safe.
We went in about 1:30 p.m. The only person in the place other than the
tatooed waitress cum bartender was a sixtyish guy nursing a beer. He
didn't even look up as we came in. I watched him as we ate. I figured
that he was no more than, at most, ten years older than me. I could
not see myself, in ten years, riding a bar stool alone on a Sunday
afternoon.
I could not help but think as we rode back to town of my bike riding
friends; many of them in their sixties and seventies. They do a lot
more than ride. They are intelligent, articulate, engaging people.
They are quite unlike my brother-in-law and the bar stool jockey.
I have to wonder if my friends ride bikes because they are intelligent,
or if they remain intelligent because they ride bikes and stay
otherwise active. I am going to operate under the assumption that
riding keeps you young and interesting. That way I can justify keeping
up this hobby and postponing my dotage.
Dick Durbin
He's my wife's brother and I love him, but all the guy wanted to do was
sit on the couch, watch television, and drink beer. The only time he
would get off the couch was to go outside to smoke since we wouldn't
let him smoke in the house. He's 50 years old and must weigh 300
pounds.
I tried my best to entertain him while he was here but, after he left I
was excited to get back on the bike and go for a ride. My friend
Matthew and I rode to the St. Mark's Lighthouse on Apalachee Bay. On
the way back we stopped at a biker bar/oyster house, the only place to
get a bite to eat in Newport, Florida. We weren't too sure about going
into a biker bar dressed in Lycra, but there were no motorcycles
outside so we figured it was safe.
We went in about 1:30 p.m. The only person in the place other than the
tatooed waitress cum bartender was a sixtyish guy nursing a beer. He
didn't even look up as we came in. I watched him as we ate. I figured
that he was no more than, at most, ten years older than me. I could
not see myself, in ten years, riding a bar stool alone on a Sunday
afternoon.
I could not help but think as we rode back to town of my bike riding
friends; many of them in their sixties and seventies. They do a lot
more than ride. They are intelligent, articulate, engaging people.
They are quite unlike my brother-in-law and the bar stool jockey.
I have to wonder if my friends ride bikes because they are intelligent,
or if they remain intelligent because they ride bikes and stay
otherwise active. I am going to operate under the assumption that
riding keeps you young and interesting. That way I can justify keeping
up this hobby and postponing my dotage.
Dick Durbin